The Shaping of Weapons
by Emma the Awesome
Summary: Everyone knows that Liraz, Akiva and Hazael were raised to fight. But who were they as children? What was life in the training camp like?


"Leave me alone, you little brat! Can't you see I'm busy?" These were the words that accompanied the harsh crack of Liraz's mother's hand across the five-year-old's cheek. Liraz, no expert in reading body language, had not noticed her displeasure, but the blow hadn't exactly come as a surprise and so she took it without flinching.

"Busy doing what?" She dared to ask. The woman her mother was talking to made a scoffing noise.

"Impudent creature, isn't she? I wouldn't worry about it, Linora. Training camp'll soon straighten her out. Is it today they're coming for her?"

"Yes," Linora confirmed. "I can't wait to be rid of her." At twenty one, she was much too young to have a daughter of Liraz's age, but Liraz did not understand this. All she understood was that she was stuck with a parent who did not love her, cared for her only out of duty and couldn't wait to see the back of her.

She understood about the training camp too, of course. How could she not? She had grown up seeing countless other children ripped from their mothers' arms just after their fifth birthdays, loaded onto a cart and taken away. Today it was her turn and Liraz, second bearer of the name, had vowed not to be one of the pathetic ones, the ones who cried and screamed for the mothers who would have all but forgotten them in a few years when they were replaced by younger siblings, new babies, new bearers of old names.

Liraz had once made the mistake of asking Linora what it meant that she was the second to be called by that name. What had happened to the first?

"She's dead," was her mother's cold response. "Slaughtered in battle. Most likely hacked to pieces by some filthy chimaera and left to bleed out her life into the dirt. Just like you will be!" She'd added with a hoot of mirthless laughter. "My little Misbegotten warrior." There was no trace of affection in the words. "Ha! My little mindless drone might be closer to the mark."

Actually, the original Liraz had not died in battle. She was a cot death victim, the child of a woman who had been at Joram's beck and call since she was younger than Linora. Apparently, the infant had been found lying still one day, her skin tinged grey and the fire gone from her wings, glassy eyes fixed on nothing. The following week, Liraz the second had been born and the name of the flame-haired toddler had swiftly been assigned to this new baby, the one who already had a full head of golden blonde hair and ice blue eyes.

"She'll be a heartbreaker when she's older," people would inform her mother.

"If she lives that long," was Linora's standard reply.

And so Liraz, unlike so many others, could not say she was adverse to joining the training camp. It was one miserable life traded for another. No five-year-old should be cynical, but that was exactly what she was. It was a shame, but given the circumstances, it was to be expected.

~/\~

They came for her later that day, two older seraphim with tally-marked hands and weary eyes, accompanied by a creaking wooden cart pulled by chimaera slaves and already containing several young children. Liraz almost felt sorry for the slaves, before remembering that they were the enemy and _they deserved everything they got._ Chimaera, she reminded herself, were bad. They were foul, evil creatures. She should feel privileged, being given the chance to aid their destruction.

So why couldn't she silence that nagging voice in the back of her mind, the one insisting that the scene laid out before her was all wrong?

"Listen up!" The taller of the two tally-marked angels, a woman with short grey hair and a square face shouted. "We are going to call the names of the children who are to come with us. Do not attempt to disrupt this process, or..." She tapped the hilt of the sword at her hip pointedly. "Is that understood?" There were a few nods from around the settlement, but no one spoke. It was clear enough what she meant. "Okay then." She nodded to her companion, who pulled out a scroll and began to read.

"Hananel, Abrielle, Jonathan, Krista and Liraz." Silence. With an impatient sigh, he read the names out again. "Well?" He asked. "We asked for no disruptions. Hand over your children now and no one will be harmed."

Liraz was surprised to find herself struggling against an overwhelming desire to turn and run. How odd. All these years longing to get away from Linora- from all these people- only to find that at the last moment, she wanted nothing more than to flee into their midst, to hide among them until the strangers gave up looking for her and went away.

"I'll only ask once more," the reader said. "Hananel, Abrielle, Jonathan, Krista and Liraz. Step forth now and we'll leave it at that."

She wanted to move, but didn't trust herself to do so in the right direction. It was ridiculous, really. Where would she run to? Linora was right behind her, but for some reason was not trying to push her forwards, as Hananel's mother was doing across the field. At a sudden pressure on her shoulder, she whipped around to find Linora... Holding her back?

"I'm sorry, Liraz." It had been a long time since her mother had used her name. "I haven't been the best caregiver, have I?"

"No." Liraz was not the forgiving type and all thoughts of staying dissipated in the blink of an eye. "The handprint on my cheek lets everyone know that, _mother_." She spat out the last word with such venom that Linora actually recoiled, as though _she _was the one who was constantly slapped around. "Don't worry. With any luck, I'll be _hacked to pieces by some filthy chimaera _before we have the chance to meet again." And with that, she wrenched herself free and set out across the field, leaving the woman who raised her open mouthed in her wake. The representatives from the training camp were visibly relieved to see her approaching.

"There, you see?" The man called out. "This one is brave. This one knows what's good for her. Will you let your children follow this girl's example?" He glanced at his list before addressing Liraz. "Which one are you? Abrielle? Krista?"

"Liraz," she responded. She was trying her best not to make eye contact with the slaves, who stood just metres away from her. The man nodded, ticking her name off the list, before turning to the woman beside him and murmuring something to her. She whispered something back, then went over to Liraz.

"You did well," she told her. "Those who can obey orders are far more likely to survive training camp. My name is Melliel," she added. "We are half sisters. He-" she jabbed a thumb at the man, "is you half brother. We are all siblings, you understand, but we do not think of each other that way. The Misbegotten are without family."

"Melliel," the man said sharply. "That's enough now. We have a job to do."

"Yes, of course." Melliel sounded almost sad as she faced the gathering again. "You have one more chance," she informed them. "Give us your children now." She hesitated. "We will not hurt them."

"But others might," the man added under his breath. Melliel elbowed him.

The silence continued. Hananel could now be heard arguing with her mother, insisting that she didn't want to go. Melliel made a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a frustrated growl and began unsheathing her sword when a miracle happened. The four remaining children started to move towards the cart as one, nervously picking their way across the grass. Melliel resheathed her sword.

"Thank the godstars," she muttered.

Confused, Liraz glanced around, trying to work out what it was the was drawing the children over and was surprised to be met by the sight of one of her half brothers on the cart, a boy who bore more than a passing resemblance to her, poised on his toes and making a beckoning motion with both hands, mouthing _it's okay, you'll be fine_, over and over again. He was smiling. Why in the world was he smiling? She wanted to shake him and scream _'_What do you have to smile about?! Don't you get it? We're going to be trained to die!' But she did not shake him. She only watched as the reluctant four neared them until they were right in front of the cart, lined up beside her. The boy winked at them before folding his wings and sitting down again. Liraz was astonished. What had he done? Hypnotised them?

"That's everyone, then," said the scroll reader. He looked at the five children. Get on the cart, then." Wide eyed and fearful, Jonathan, Krista, Hananel and Abrielle did as they were told, using a combination of scrambling arms and fluttering, barely functional infant wings to get themselves over the sides and into the cart. Liraz, however, was smaller than the others and was furious to find herself dangling by her fingertips, unable to pull herself up and over the edge. Melliel and the scroll reader had not noticed yet, they were whispering to each other about something- arguing, actually.

"Irresponsible," the man was saying, "to tell them we won't hurt them."

"Well, we won't."

"But now they'll think they're safe! You've given them false hope, you've-"

"Hey." Startled, Liraz glanced up to see the boy who looked like her leaning over the side of the cart. He extended one hand, reaching down to her. "Want some help?"

"I don't need your assistance," she snarled, resuming her struggle to clear the side of the cart. The boy shrugged.

"Never said you did. I was only asking if you _wanted _it."

"Fine!" She spat, letting go with one hand and allowing him to take it. He tugged hard and suddenly they were lying in a crumpled heap on the dusty floor of the cart. Liraz was quick to extract herself from the tangle of limbs, standing up and brushing herself down. The boy followed suit, grinning at her as she flopped down on the ground, leant against the side and glowered fiercely at the rest of their half siblings as the cart began to move. Some of them were crying, sniffling into their sleeves as Melliel and the scroll reader hopped onto a shelf at the front and instructed the chimaera to pull.

"I could have done that by myself," Liraz told the boy flatly. He looked amused.

"I know you could."

"They're pathetic, aren't they?" She said after a moment of quiet. He blinked at her.

"Who?"

"Them." She gestured at the other children; they didn't seem to notice. "Our _siblings_." The word was laden with heavy sarcasm, for these snivelling creatures were no siblings of hers. The boy shook his head.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Their reactions are perfectly natural. What you _should _be asking is why we're able to just sit here and talk while they sob for home." He was right.

"Well?" She asked. "Why?"

"Because we don't have homes to cry for. Not really." His eyes flicked to the mark on her cheek. "I've got bruises like that." Liraz bristled.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? Because..." He lifted the hem of his shirt slightly, revealing an enormous, purpley-blue smudge on his stomach. Liraz bit back a gasp. It was far worse than anything Linora had ever done to her. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Then why are you so- so upbeat?"

"Because," he grinned, and it was like the sun coming out. "I never have to see my aunt again!"

"Your aunt?"

"Yes. My mother died when I was a baby. So I was raised by her brother's wife." He said 'raised' in a way that made Liraz wonder exactly what this aunt's brand of bringing up a child entailed.

"Not really your aunt, then," was all she said. "Not by blood."

"No, thankfully." His smile faded. "I can think of better people to be brought up by."

"I don't doubt it," she murmured. She hesitated. Then- "My name is Liraz."

"Hazael," he replied, the smile back in place. He squinted at her. "We look alike. We're not twins, are we?" Liraz shook her head.

"I shouldn't think so. My mother is very much alive. Unfortunately." Then she added, almost as an afterthought, "Her name is Linora."

"Well, there goes that theory. Mine was called Rose."

"Did she look like you?" Liraz wasn't sure what made her ask that question, but Hazael seemed unperturbed.

"No idea. I assume she did. Our father isn't blond, from what I've heard." At the mention of Joram, Liraz stiffened.

"We're not supposed to call him that," she said. Hazael shrugged.

"Well, what _are_ we supposed to call him?" It was Liraz's turn to shrug.

"Would 'nasty brute' work?" Hazael let out a startled laugh.

"Yes. Yes, I suppose it would. All right then, the nasty brute isn't blond. Happy now?"

Liraz was about to smile when she caught sight of a girl even smaller than she was, curled up in a ball in the far corner of the cart, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. Her smile melted to give way to a discontented frown. "No," she said. "Not really."

Hazael followed her gaze until his eyes, too, were resting on the tearful girl. He sighed. "I can't say I blame you."


End file.
